


Briars Round the Heart

by stefanie_bean



Category: Lost
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon Divergent, Complete, F/F, Femslash, Rare Pairings, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:57:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2664455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stefanie_bean/pseuds/stefanie_bean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Libby and Ana Lucia struggle with Island survival and a new relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love

After the Oceanic 815 tail section disappears into the waves, after the screaming stops, while the man with the splinted fracture lies moaning under the ironwood tree, two women sit together on the sand, exhausted.

The dark-haired one points to the wounded man. “Good job.” The hint of a smile crosses her warm brown eyes.

“Just did what I could,” says the dark-blonde woman, brushing aside her windswept hair. Tired lines lace her green eyes. She's a little wary, because the other woman looks tough, maybe even mean. But there's a kindness about her, too.

The dark-haired woman offers a strong, calloused grip. “I'm Ana Lucia.”

“Libby.” It's hard to sound friendly, but Libby does her best. Ana Lucia must have some kind of physical job: truck driver, maybe, or prison guard. Perhaps orderly in a hospital, and Libby shivers despite the hot tropical sun. 

“So, you're a shrink,” Ana Lucia says.

Just barely. With the CEUs from the Sydney conference, and a good report from her psychiatrist, Libby just might get her California license back. Not feeling like going into it, Libby just nods. “And you?”

“I'm a cop. LAPD. You from LA?”

“Newport Beach. How about yourself?”

“Ha, nowhere so nice. You probably never heard of it.”

So it begins.

* * * * * * * *

The first night, three of them are dragged from the fireside and swallowed by the darkness. Two of the attackers' luck ends on the sand, where they lie bludgeoned to death by Eko, the huge Nigerian priest. His blood-soaked shirt scares the children, Zack and Emma, so he removes it.

Normally, enormous muscle-bound men terrify Libby, but not Eko. After the attack, he hovers like a silent, protective cloud over all of them.

The next night, the tail section survivors bed down in clumps. Ana, Libby, and flight attendant Cindy put the children between them. The women joke about who's going to be the odd one on the outside. 

Cindy doesn't mind being the bread of the sandwich, as long as she's next to the fire. So Libby forms one parenthesis with the children on the inside, and Ana Lucia closes it with the other, with Cindy huddled up against Libby.

That night, when Libby stretches out her arm over Zack's head, her hand collides with another one in the dark. Rough, strong fingers lace around her own. Neither Libby nor Ana let go until first light.

* * * * * * * *

They've never announced that they're together, but other people in the group look at them differently.

Horror breaks out again, even worse than the first night. This time Emma and Zack are taken, and seven others besides.

Cindy blames herself. She cries inconsolably, shaking off Libby's hand when Libby tries to comfort her. Libby stares at Eko when he isn't looking, wondering who these people are, how even a man of Eko's size and power can't stop them.

The group abandons the beach the next morning, and heads inland.

* * * * * * * *

With the children gone, Ana and Libby lie entwined all night under palm-frond covers, Ana's head pillowed on Libby's breast. Despite all that's happened, happiness rises in Libby's throat so hard and fast that she can scarcely breathe.

In the day, though, there's a price. There's this man in the group, a Canadian named Nathan, and Ana can do no right, as far as he's concerned. The air crackles between them like a lit fuse.

The group comes to a spot in the jungle where a clear stream flows, where the trees are covered with fruit, and there they settle. Libby is Ana's lieutenant now, and Ana has had some hard decisions to make. 

“I need you behind me,” Ana says. “You know that everything I do is to keep you safe. You and everyone else.”

* * * * * * * *

Sometimes at night, Libby imagines that silent feet glide through the jungle, that rough hands snatch her out of Ana's arms before she even has time to scream. Then Libby leans in close to Ana, taking comfort in her presence. If Ana's awake, Libby presses her mouth up against hers, first lightly, then with more passion as Ana kisses her back.

They lie like that for hours under cover of darkness, tasting each others' mouths, sharing each others' breath. Three weeks have passed since the crash, and neither of them has had a shower or brushed their teeth. Everyone else is pretty rank too, so no one notices. 

To Libby, Ana Lucia smells and tastes like heaven.

* * * * * * * *

It's hard not to leave Cindy out, but it can't be helped. Libby wonders if Cindy's jealous and just hiding it well.

Cindy has started sleeping alone, on the edge of the group. One night Libby spies a vague, shadowy figure squatting near Cindy, rolled up in a bed of dried leaves. Strange whispers rustle the dark until Cindy glances towards Libby. The dark shape seems to melt into the underbrush, and Cindy curls up in her leafy nest once more, her back turned.

Libby crawls in next to Ana, snuggling up to her warmth. She's about to tell Ana what she's just seen, then forgets about it when Ana places her hand on Libby's breast. She moves up to Libby's neck and unties her halter dress. She rolls Libby's nipple tenderly in her fingers until it crinkles up hard. So there's nothing else for Libby to do but slide up Ana's tank top and return the compliment.

Ana's flesh is firm just about everywhere, roped with muscle, although her soft breasts roll gently under Libby's hands. One thing leads to another as they loosen each other's pants, but they don't dare take them off, just as they always sleep with their shoes on. Who knows what might descend in the dead of night?

Libby slides her fingers inside Ana's low-rise jeans, taking her mouth off of Ana's breast just long enough to whisper, “Is this okay?” 

Of course it is. Under their palm-leaf covers they rock to the slow drum-line of each other's touch, forgetting that they're on an Island in the middle of nowhere, and in more trouble than they could ever imagine.

* * * * * * * *

Things go from bad to worse with Nathan. One morning he strolls past Ana and Libby, and half-whispers, “Could you two be a little louder? Some of us need a bit more fantasy material for long and lonely nights.”

Ana's face grows dark with blood, and her eyes bright with murder. Libby lays a restraining arm on Ana's shoulder and looks to Eko for help. But Eko hasn't spoken since the night he killed those men. He just walks on by, glowering.

Ana Lucia begins digging a pit big enough to hold a man. Eventually Libby joins her.

* * * * * * * *

Later, Libby wonders why she did it, why she went along with Ana's fears, maybe even planted a few seeds of her own. “He creeps me out.” “I didn't see him on the plane.” When Cindy agrees, it seems so easy to fall in with Ana, to ignore Bernard and Goodwin's objections. To forget Eko's silent, hulking presence, and how he stares at Ana as if he can see right into her soul.

“Maybe we should let Nathan out.” Libby tries not to show fear, because Ana has become angry and short-tempered even with her. For a second, Libby imagines herself down in the pit, too. She knows she's taking a fatal, irreversible step, but she says it anyway. “They haven't come back. Maybe they've gone away.”

“Like you said, Libby, they haven't come back since he's been down there.”

Libby has no answer. That night, Ana doesn't crawl in next to her. Instead, she sleeps on the other side of their group, next to Goodwin.

* * * * * * * *

The next morning, Nathan is dead, his neck snapped. The murderous jungle strangers aren't done with them yet, it seems. So the camp moves again.

Nathan's death seems to release something inside Ana. She rejoins Libby at night, and their sweetness in the dark resumes. Ana seems insatiable now, manic. She clutches Libby to her breast and groans in release, not caring who hears them any more.

Their small band heads back downhill, downstream, always down, driven by Ana's relentless pace. By the third day, Libby is limp and exhausted. 

Only seven of them cluster around the campfire now. To occupy herself, Ana begins sharpening a stick to a fine point, almost invisible.

Later on, after midnight, Ana whispers to Libby, “I think I was wrong.”

“Wrong about what?” Libby's final orgasm still pulses through her body as she slides down the slalom course to sleep.

“About Nathan. I won't make that mistake again.”

Libby closes her eyes. Maybe the jungle strangers didn't kill him after all. She pushes the dreadful possibility aside. Libby hasn't felt so helpless since the day she checked herself into the mental hospital.

* * * * * * * *

They've found new shelter, a concrete bunker carved into the hillside. There's a weird sign on the wall, an eight-sided sigil with an arrow in the center. Cindy says it's called a “bagua” in Chinese, but no one cares. They're too busy with the day-to-day elements of survival: resting their tired feet from the long forced march, foraging for fruit, or catching small fish from the rocky and fast-moving river.

No one questions Ana when Goodwin disappears, least of all Libby. Sometimes Libby and Cindy exchange furtive glances. 

Ana must feel safe, because she doesn't monitor people's movements anymore. Even when Cindy vanishes into the jungle for half a morning, Ana doesn't say anything, as long as Cindy brings back something to eat. At first Libby thinks Cindy's looking for the children. But sometimes she's not so sure.

The only men left are Bernard and Eko. Ana doesn't care what they do, either.

For Libby, the days start to blur. It seems as if she's always been with Ana Lucia. Always been covered in sweat and jungle grime. Always played the calm and uncritical one while Ana simmers, thinks, calculates.

Something torments Ana in the long watches of the night, and Libby knows too well how that goes. One night Ana turns to her and whispers, “I did it for us, for you and me. All I want is for us to be safe.” Libby waits with leaping heart for Ana to take the next step, to say the next words.

Libby has fallen in love.

* * * * * * * *

When things falls apart, they tear fast as a seam ripping under the strain. Ana has gone to the river for water, but when she doesn't return, Libby goes after her. There, from behind a thick brake of fern, Libby watches as Eko and Ana talk at the river's edge.

It's shocking enough, Eko speaking after six weeks of silence. Worse, when Ana collapses into tears, Eko draws her into his arms. Jealousy hits Libby hard, like a surprise blow from behind. Eko has done nothing to deserve those tears which Ana refuses to shed for Libby, even in Libby's arms, even when Libby tries so hard to draw her out. 

Ana cries on in Eko's embrace. He strokes her hair, croons to her in his lilting, musical accent as she clings to him like a life-raft. Libby slips back into the shadows, eyes stinging with tears.

* * * * * * * *

Libby spends most of her time with Cindy now. Even after seven weeks in this green hell, Cindy still keeps up a smiling, professional facade, as does Libby. Both of them have made their livings hiding their true feelings about passengers or clients. But their eyes say everything, especially when Ana and Eko go hunting, or sit closely together while rain beats on the bunker's steel door like a drum.

No one wants to know why the word “Quarantine” is stenciled across the inside.

Libby feels quarantined herself, locked outside of something vital between Ana and Eko. She moves through the days like a ghost, and occasionally the old feelings come back. Depersonalization. Derealization. Knowing their clinical names doesn't rob them of their power. Libby knows what has brought Eko and Ana together, but that doesn't help, either. 

She's sure Ana and Eko aren't sleeping together. Something binds them, though, even more powerful than what Libby and Ana had. 

Mutual guilt over shed blood.

* * * * * * * *

One day, Eko comes across three strange men with an outlandish story of having first been in the plane crash, then shipwrecked. They have a pistol, which Ana takes at once. Even though one man is wounded, Eko and Ana force them into to the pit once dug for Nathan. Libby has no voice in the matter.

It seems like years ago that Ana and Libby rocked in each others arms. Ana and Eko concoct their schemes and all Libby can do is suffer. She stops talking to Cindy or anyone else. The days roll by like scenes from a nightmarish horror film. 

Libby starts cataloging her symptoms as if they were happening to someone else, and indeed it feels as if they are. She snaps in and out of it, especially when it's clear that the tall blond man, Sawyer, is getting progressively sicker and weaker. The sight of his pus-swollen, red-streaked bullet wound brings her back to herself, if only briefly. 

She has enough mental clarity to lie to him, shamelessly. Despite what she tells him, his wound doesn't look fine at all. In fact, he may well die of it. But there's no point in telling him that. If he dies, it will be soon enough.

Ana wants to leave Sawyer behind, but when she looks to Eko for support, all he does is turn his face away.

Eko has become Ana's second-in-command now. Libby would resent him more if she weren't so busy trying to hold onto the remaining shreds of her sanity. They take turns carrying Sawyer now, because he can no longer walk. The closer they get to Sawyer's camp, the heavier an oppressive cloud weighs over all of them.

Libby begins to wonder once more what it would feel like to die.

* * * * * * * *

In the middle of dragging Sawyer's limp-as-a-corpse body uphill, Cindy disappears. The jungle answers their shouts of terror and frustration with a resounding rainstorm. They follow the direction they think Cindy's gone, slipping in mud, clawing at each other in the blinding fog.

When the thunder itself seem to clot into voices, Libby is convinced she's lost her mind for good. She can hear words in the tree-top whispers, words which mock and warn and insinuate. 

Swiftly and without warning, a pale ghost streaks towards them from out of the black jungle. The flapping white shape shrieks something no one can understand. 

Ana Lucia fires off a single shot. A thin, blonde woman falls to the ground, blood spurting in arterial surges from the hole in her mid-section. Right behind her, a rain-soaked dark-skinned man bellows curses as he charges at them.

Libby's mind clears. The dark-skinned man lies at Ana's feet, unconscious from a blow to the head. Ana orders Eko to tie him up, but he refuses. 

Everyone gapes as Ana Lucia swings the pistol towards Libby. Long-standing practice forces Libby to control her breathing, still her trembling hands, count to five. The numbness of the past two days probably saves her life. 

“Ana.” Libby doesn't feel the tenderness in her voice.

Ana can't even look her in the eye.

“Ana,” Libby says again. 

Ana almost relents, but something hard and crazy snaps back into position inside her. Suddenly, Libby doesn't really want to die after all. Deep down, she knows that Ana will shoot her if she makes a false move. 

So Libby does as Ana orders and ties the dark man up, while Ana trains her weapon on them both. Libby's anger at Eko overflows. At his fearlessness around death. Of the hold he has over Ana, while Libby has none.

Suddenly, Eko looms over Ana, drawing her into some titanic struggle which Libby doesn't understand. When Ana looks away first, Eko hoists Sawyer onto his shoulders. 

“I am taking him to his people,” Eko announces.

The dark man wakes up. In the furor which follows, he says exactly what Libby is thinking. “She is alone with her guilt, and a gun.” 

The next to put Ana to the test is Bernard. Taking Libby's arm, he leads her toward the wide swath of broken foliage left in Eko's wake. Before Libby disappears into the forest, she turns to give Ana one drawn-out, hopeful look. 

But Ana Lucia's eyes are flat and blank as stones at the river's edge.

( _continued_ )


	2. Interlude

Libby clings to Bernard's hand as they enter the settlement. Soon Bernard leaves her standing, though, because his wife grabs him, sobbing, crying, kissing and hugging him. For a moment, Libby wonders if she'll find someone like that to grow old with.

Far across the beach camp, the tall, dark man with the volcanic expression cradles the dead girl in his arms.

* * * * * * * *

Libby makes a bedroll by the fire in front of Rose's tent. Bernard and Rose are giving each other distinctive married looks, so Libby makes a big show of bedding down for the night.

Bernard goes into the tent, but Rose hangs back for a moment. “Did you get to meet Hurley?” 

Most people have said their names to Libby in passing, but that one doesn't stick out. “Was he here when we came in?” 

“Tell you the truth, honey, I didn't notice. But if you'd met him, you wouldn't forget him.” 

“Is that so?” Libby says, polite.

A strange tone comes into Rose's voice, but Libby doesn't know Rose well enough to decipher it. “Now that I think of it, that boy's been spending a lot of time out in the jungle. I'm sure we'll see him tomorrow, though.”

Libby doesn't say anything. She thinks of mentioning what happened to Cindy, but doesn't. To do so would open a whole line of speculation, and Libby's tired, tired to the bone. She and Ana are already in enough trouble as it is.

Rose finishes with, “Guess it's just as well. When he finds out about Shannon, it's gonna really hit him. Hurley takes things hard.”

* * * * * * * *

At Shannon's funeral, Libby keeps peeking around Rose and Bernard to get a better look at Hurley. He's pure endomorph, a 7-1-1 on the somatotype scale if there ever was one, which is probably why Rose said he's unforgettable. That, and his wild hair. But there's something terribly familiar about him, something which Libby can't place, and a deep-seated anxiety rides shotgun alongside that familiarity.

Afterwards, a smiling girl named Sirrah shows Libby where the extra clothes are kept. Maybe she'd like to change? At once Libby notices how clean these people are. Sure, they're sweat-soaked and their jean hems are ringed with mud, but Libby's been covered in thick grime for so long that everyone here looks freshly-scrubbed.

The beach camp people have suitcases, so many suitcases, and Libby has to fight back envy as she sorts through the clothing. When Ana and she crashed, they had nothing. Their few suitcases floated out to sea, carried away by the tide.

* * * * * * * *

Ana collects thick fallen branches, then ties them together with cordage. She doesn't look in Libby's direction. All she says is, “Better get your shelter made.”

Libby knows a dismissal when she hears one. But she tries anyway. “Listen, Ana, I know you want some space right now. If you want to talk, I just want you to know that--”

“Libby, I'm gonna say this once. Do _not_ pull that headshrinker shit on me.”

It's like being slapped. Libby's mouth is still hanging open when a big woman with gray-blonde hair and a long hippie dress approaches them, carrying a tarp. Her name is Kathy, and her dark-skinned, long-haired friend is Shana. 

When Kathy holds out the tarp, it's clear that she's not sure who to hand it to. _She's trying to figure out if we're a couple_ , Libby thinks in the midst of the deafening silence which surrounds her and Ana. Finally Ana directs a curt nod towards Libby. “Give it to her.” 

Shana hands Libby a ball of twine to tie her tent-frame together. Libby almost can't say thanks, because her eyes sting so sharply with tears.

Then Ana walks away, over to where Eko is camped. Her half-finished tent sits mute, unoccupied. 

After staring at the tarp for awhile, Libby starts to gather long, straight branches for a tent frame, just like Ana did. Ten minutes later, it's clear how rough this is going to be, for Libby's never camped a day in her life. The closest was when David took her to Egg Harbor, where the “rustic cabin” was more luxurious than their Newport Beach condo. 

She misses how easy it was at day's end to just roll into a leaf-nest with Ana. Here there are limits, customs, unspoken rules, alliances. A settlement, in other words. A society. And she's completely alone within it.

* * * * * * * *

A midnight rain convinces Libby she has to finish her tent, which is easier said than done. The tarp-roof has fallen down for the third time, and if a single person can tie it up securely, Libby doesn't know the secret. Inside, tears build up again. It's crazy, she never cried once during the past month and a half, yet she's almost collapsed into a blubbering heap twice in as many days.

She knows why, intellectually. Clients in therapy would break down in front of Libby all the time, simply because they felt safe to do so. Even though Libby feels secure in this camp, she doesn't want to cry in front of new people.

One more try, then.

Libby stretches the tarp, and the other corner slides down again. Numb with fatigue, racked by frustration, she doesn't see the man until he's almost upon her. He strides over with a goofy smile on his round face, then silently picks up the runaway tarp corner. Automatically, she supports it from the other side.

Hurley. He looks like a great boy in his surfer shorts and sloppy t-shirt, his sneakers big as canoes. She can feel his size, even from six feet away. When he bends over, his body squeezes into shapeless folds. 

How does someone that young get so big? Libby has always prided herself on her control, her discipline, on keeping her weight down to what it was in high school.

She can't help being warmed by his smile, though. No one else in this camp has acted as glad to see her, and the urge to cry fades.

He finishes tying off the tarp, still beaming. She can smell the virginity on him, sweet and fresh as new-mown grass.

* * * * * * * *

A few days go by, but Hurley hasn't come around again. Out of the corner of her eye, though, Libby catches him watching her.

She goes to collect crabs in a tide pool out of sight of the beach camp. 

Picking her way silently across the sand, Ana comes up and puts her arms around Libby from behind. At first Libby's too shocked to speak, then she falls into the embrace. Ana nuzzles her neck, murmuring things like, “I'm sorry” and “I know it's been rough on you.”

Libby wants to believe her, for she's been crushed by the weight of missing Ana. She can't hold in the questions any longer, and the words flood out. “Why? Why are you doing this, Ana? We don't have to be apart. There are already two women who might be a couple--”

Ana cuts her off. “I'm doing this for you. They hate me here. I killed one of their people, did you forget that? At least if I'm not with you, they won't hate you too.”

Now Ana's shaking, and Libby pulls her in close. She rubs Ana's back, makes soft murmuring noises. “They won't. You'll see. You just have to give them a chance, Ana.”

For once, amazingly, Ana doesn't argue. “You know, they got a bunker here of their own.”

“I know. They call it 'the Hatch.'”

Then Ana smiles and says, “You wanna go explore it?”

It sounds almost too good to be true.

* * * * * * * *

All the way to the Hatch, Ana tries to get Libby to see things her way. The people here are weak. They've been coddled. They're complacent, soft. Against her will, Libby's reminded of Hurley's oleaginous body.

“Jack's the only one that sees it,” Ana goes on. “But I've got a plan.” A red flush spreads over Ana's cheeks, then down her chest, to cover the tops of her breasts. Ana's pink, excited. She looks the most alive she has, since they've come here.

Only once does Libby say, “Ana, this is crazy.”

Ana stops in the middle of the path. “Really? They killed our people. They took the kids. Don't you want them back, Libby? Don't you want Cindy back?”

Of course Libby does.

* * * * * * * *

At the back door to the Swan Hatch, Ana yells, “Ana Lucia, with one.”

John Locke shouts back, “Come on in.” 

Ana takes Libby's hand. They pass through a dim concrete corridor to what looks like someone's finished basement. “Look, a clothes washer,” Ana says. “And a shower. I could use both.”

“Why not just get some clothes from the suitcases?” 

It's the wrong thing to say. Ana's face grows dark, but not with excitement. “What if I grabbed something of _hers_ , Libby? Besides, I don't need their stuff. I just need to clean up.”

Libby nods. Ana leads her to a small room off the main one, a kind of store-room, although it has a cot in it as well. One shelf is stacked with coarse wool army blankets. Tossing one to Libby, Ana says, “You look like you could use a shower, too.”

“What about Locke?” 

“That old coot. He's all wrapped up in his computer.” Ana strips, and as she stretches, she gives Libby a long view of her golden skin, round breasts, strong shoulders. Naked, draped in blankets, Libby and Ana tiptoe past Locke. After loading up the washing machine, they head for the shower.

* * * * * * * *

If there's anything Libby wants to thank some non-existent god for, it's hot water. The shower stall is compact, so they stand plastered together in the soapy stream.

Libby makes the first move. “Want me to wash your back?” She's prepared for rejection, but to her surprise, Ana nods. Libby's hands travel across Ana's strong, broad shoulders, over her tightly-muscled back, down to the soft curves of her bottom. 

It's almost too much to take. Libby lays her face against Ana's back, wraps her arms around Ana's slippery middle, not wanting to move or let go. Ana swings around, so that their bodies slide over each other like fish.

“My turn,” Ana says. As Ana's hands wander over her, Libby's never been prouder of her body. Forty-plus days of starvation and forced marches have made the bones protrude sharply from her hips. There's no flesh between her thighs, where Ana's hand works its way up the lean, hard arc of Libby's groin.

Her breasts hang a little, not like Ana's fuller, heavier ones, but Libby doesn't care. She hasn't been this slender since eighth grade. She feels beautiful, confident. When Ana turns off the water, Libby's heart leaps at Ana's wicked smirk.

Dripping, they toss the laundry into the dryer, then sneak back to the little room and towel each other off. They've never had genuine privacy, never had a closed door to shut out the world, and for an instant they just stare at each other, not sure of what's coming next.

In a heartbeat, they fall into each other's arms at the same time. Their hungry mouths merge. Libby kisses Ana open-mouthed, tasting Ana's tongue. Ana gently bites Libby's lower lip, bringing it to a peak of swollen sensitivity. 

The kiss goes on for a long time. Sometimes they draw in little puffs of air from between each others' mouths, or breathe through their noses, not wanting to break contact. Sometimes they just lick each others' lips, reveling in the taste, the sensitive skin just on the inside.

Before Libby knows it, Ana's thrown the bolt on the door and they're lying together on the cot. They pick up where they left off with more kisses, but Libby isn't content with kisses alone. Not any longer. 

The room is hot and soon they're slick with sweat. Libby's mouth wanders down, always farther down, past Ana's beautiful soft breasts, over her ridged stomach, lower still, until Ana shudders with pleasure. 

Libby takes her time. She's good at this, she's been told, and she believes it. It's all a matter of timing, of alternating feather-like flicks with slow, long strokes, of not going too fast, of letting the tension build right up to the very last instant.

Ah, that's it. Libby hasn't lost her touch at all. The walls of that small room ring out with Ana's cries, ones she's never made before. Then her breathing slows, her eyes open, and the warm, welcoming smile Ana sends her way is for Libby alone. 

Soon Ana can speak again. “I bet those clothes are dry by now.”

Libby laughs, full of delight. Finally, she's been able to make Ana Lucia happy.

* * * * * * * *

Libby starts doing laundry for people, in exchange for fish. It makes her feel useful and wanted. It also gives her an excuse to spend time in the Hatch, where she and Ana catch their stolen hours here and there.

So one morning, while doing laundry, Libby's heart leaps when she hears the familiar “click” of the Hatch's back door. It's not Ana, though. Instead, Hurley has followed her in. 

She's used to men eyeing her. She catches his side-looks, but they're not the usual kind. Instead, he seems to search for something, yet won't come right out with it.

At first, she doesn't know what to say to him. His shy awkwardness unnerves her. By the time she starts prattling about the washing machine, she's flailing inside like a drowning woman. He's just a kid, he has to be twenty-five at the most. Maybe younger. He makes every one of her thirty-six years weigh on her.

Her sense of desperation grows. For the first time in a long while she wants some Xanax, very badly. She can almost taste the tablets dissolving into bitterness under her tongue, followed by the rush of calm, immediate as throwing a switch. It's as if she hasn't learned a thing from her stint in the hospital, or in rehab.

There's no Xanax here, though, so she's on her own. At first flirting derails him, keeps him staring at her breasts instead of her face. Now, though, he's not side-eyeing her anymore. Instead, he scrutinizes her openly under the harsh fluorescent lights.

“Don't I... know you?”

It's true. He does, she does, from somewhere, but she can't make it out, doesn't want to. It has to be the hospital. Not rehab, that was all women. He's big enough to have been an orderly, though she can't picture him in an orderly's whites. A visitor, maybe...

Something inside her shuts down the speculation. Instead she babbles, teases him about not peeking while she undresses. She changes into an ugly sequined top grabbed at random from the clothes pile, and lies about him stepping on her foot when they were on the plane. 

It works. She can't see his face, but his whole body flinches. He's forgotten his question. When he turns around, he stares at her breasts again, but she has to drag the compliments out of him.

Hastily, he stuffs his unfolded laundry into a back-pack and leaves.

* * * * * * * *

Later that night, Ana and Libby lie wrapped in each others arms, snug in the Hatch.

Ana's half-asleep, limp with relaxation, so Libby dares to bring something up.

“Ana, we could leave.”

“Hmm?”

“Grab some gear, take off. The people in those tents behind me, they've been talking about it. They don't think I can hear them, but I do. They're going to leave, sometime soon. We could do that, too. Go look for Cindy and the kids.”

“Sure, Libby. Walk right into the jaws of those animals out there. Brilliant.”

She swallows, hard. “Ana, I could work something out with them. Negotiate. I'm good at that.”

Ana laughs, cold and without humor. She's fully awake now. “You shrinks, you talk somebody down off a ledge, you think you can do anything.”

“I've done it before. Only it wasn't a ledge. It was a pier.” It's true. She still has the commendation from the Orange County sheriff's department on the wall in her office. 

It's clear Ana's thinking about it. She doesn't argue anymore, just rolls over and starts nuzzling Libby's breasts. Before Libby loses herself in soft, rolling sensation, she tells herself that at least Ana didn't say no.

* * * * * * * *

Beach camp gossip says that Ana and Jack are having an affair, which makes Libby chuckle. Since the fire, Claire's scraggly-haired ex has been sleeping down at Mr. Eko's camp, which sets off another round of speculation, equally untrue. Probably.

Ana's right, too, about the two of them avoiding being seen together. Most in the beach camp either glare at Ana or cut her dead, but that's not the case with Libby. People sometimes invite her to sit at their fire now, mostly Rose and Bernard, or Sun when Jin isn't around. Not Kate, though, nor Claire. 

Kathy and Shana invite her too, but Libby hangs back, hesitant. Jack she can fool. Locke's oblivious. Charlie's obsessed with Mr. Eko. 

These two, though, seem to see everything. After Libby's second refusal, Shana says, “You don't have to hide, you know. Kathy and I, we're out. Mostly everybody here's cool with that.”

Kathy laughs, rich and deep from the belly. “And if they're not, too bad.”

Flushing, Libby pretends she doesn't know what they're talking about.

* * * * * * * *

It's late at night, the night before the prisoner Henry Gale is taken, the night before the Hatch becomes off-limits to all but a favored few. The night before everything changes.

Ana and Libby walk back to the beach camp from the Hatch. Bold, drunk with love, they're looped in each other's arms. They step from the jungle onto a deserted stretch of beach, but someone's built a fire there, in a spot where no one usually does. 

They stop dead. They've almost tripped over Hurley, who's crouched over, trying to read in the firelight. Deeply immersed in his big paper manuscript, he doesn't stir, doesn't seem to know they've crept up behind him.

Slowly, silently, Ana and Libby back up. When they're clear, Ana makes a wry face. Suppressing their giggles, they slip back into the darkness.

( _continued_ )


	3. Revelation

Libby's still shaking from Claire's shrieks. Kate fires one long, regretful look at Libby before leading her friend away in a protective embrace.

It was stupid to try and hypnotize Claire like that. Stupid and unprofessional. But the girl was so insistent, so obviously troubled by something she probably would do better off forgetting. She has steel inside, though. Under the soft, kittenish exterior, there's something hard and unyielding. Libby admires that, because she knows she has so little of it inside herself.

Now both Kate and Claire have left the beach, and Libby wonders if they're out looking for stolen moments of their own. It wouldn't surprise her. 

From her tent, Libby has a view of the seashore, where Sun does the baby-dance as she walks Aaron back and forth. Sometimes if he fusses, she stops to give him a little coconut-water, which he sucks off her finger.

Libby's already making plans for when she and Ana get out of here. They could live in LA. To hell with the condo in Newport Beach. Too many memories there, anyway. Her re-opened practice. Perhaps a child. She's not too old, herself. Lots of women have babies in their late thirties. Maybe Ana would want one, too.

Ana sticks her head in Libby's tent, breaking her speculations. “Take a walk?”

That pink flush of excitement covers Ana's cheeks again. She leans in to Libby and whispers, “We got one of them. Sayid caught one of those bastards.”

* * * * * * * *

The next morning, Libby runs hard up and down the shore, until she reaches a disembodied state of exhaustion. While she sits panting before one of the fires, Ana joins her. It's a first, and Libby basks in the moment. Then Ana announces, “No more fun in the Hatch.”

When Libby's face falls, Ana adds, “It's not that I don't want you there. But it's not safe.”

Lowering her voice, not wanting to be overheard, Libby leans in close to Ana. “We survived all those attacks after the crash. We caught one of their spies. You think I'm scared of them? I'm not. Look, Ana, let me talk to him. You know, good cop, bad cop.”

It's the wrong thing to say. Ana's eyes narrow. “Do I tell you how to shrink heads?”

“No, Ana, it's just—”

“I'm not gonna be around much. Locke, Jack, they're complete amateurs. At least Sayid needs me. But it's gonna take time. Gotta keep up the pressure.”

“Sure. I understand.” 

Libby also understands why so many wives of cops seek therapy.

* * * * * * * *

Ana strides off, cocky and full of purpose. Alone, Libby pokes the camp fire, where a gull egg wrapped in a wet banana leaf slowly bakes. She surveys the cheerful beach camp, busy in the morning sunlight. Claire nurses Aaron while Kate cuts up fish and hands pieces to Claire, who eats them one-handed. Neither of them have spoken to her since that botched hypnotism.

Mr. Eko and Charlie are sawing away at newly-hewn trees. People are already asking them when the new Starbucks will open.

The girl with the funny fleece hat has her arm around the chubby guy with coke-bottle glasses. Rose laughs at one of Bernard's jokes. Libby can't see Kathy and Shana's camp from where she sits, but they've been acting weird these days, not talking to anyone except their close friends.

Sawyer catches her looking around, and gives her a crooked leer. Libby turns away quickly, glances up the other direction of the beach. Anything but that. Not even if she were starving. She'll walk into the ocean first.

Somebody's made a Frisbee out of cork. A few hundred feet up the beach, Hurley stands in the surf, tossing it to Vincent. The dog lopes after it as if he's not that interested, but does it anyway just to humor Hurley. 

Libby throws her egg shells and banana-leaf wrapper into the fire, staring for a few seconds as it burns, deciding.

* * * * * * * *

Every day brings the same repetitious search for a diminishing supply of wild food. Libby reaches into the tide pool, already imagining the taste of fat mussels, when a lacerating pain shoots up her hand. It's a sea urchin. She pulls the spine from the tender skin between her thumb and wrist.

The wound starts to throb. She heads back to the beach and almost stumbles into Sun, who doesn't waste any time. With a small knife Sun cuts a neat slit right at the sting, then squeezes, hard. Greenish venom spurts out, but Sun keeps pressing until there's only thin, clear fluid. 

“You're going to put Jack out of business,” Libby jokes.

Sun doesn't smile. “It needs some medicine.” She searches for the word, then finds it. “Antibiotic. You know, salve.”

Libby knows where to go, but dread licks her insides as she approaches Sawyer's tent.

“Well, Mrs. Robinson, what can I do you for?” Sawyer says through an impish grin. 

Later, when she tells Jack of Sawyer's price for a tube of neosporin, Jack goes into action. The resulting poker game draws a crowd, especially when Kate brings out a pair of binoculars nabbed from the Hatch. Kate and Hurley pass them back and forth, while Jack devastates Sawyer at poker.

Libby sidles up to Hurley, who almost drops the binoculars in surprise. Then, before Kate can take them out of his hand, he hands them to Libby. She tries to ignore the steely glare Kate sends her way. His bare arm brushes Libby's, a brief glow against her skin. He tosses his head and laughs. Because he's so close to her, she can't ignore how good he smells, all warm salt and sunshine.

* * * * * * * *

In the dead of night, Ana sticks her head into Libby's tent and whispers, “You up for a moonlight ramble?”

They lie together in the tall grass at the outskirts of Sun's vegetable garden, holding hands, tender and affectionate now that passion's spent. It's uncomfortable here on the grassy jungle floor, nowhere near as congenial as their former love-nest in the Hatch. But the garden feels safe even in the dark, protected. 

“Ana, do you believe in God?”

“What the hell you talking about, Libby? I'm Catholic.”

“So you do believe in God, then.”

“I didn't say that.” Ana's quiet, thinking. “You Catholic?”

“Episcopalian, high and hazy.”

“What's that?”

“Catholic-lite. No purgatory, no Real Presence, no Mary statues. It's all just symbols.”

Libby expects Ana to laugh, but the silence which follows is so uncomfortable, she rolls over to look Ana full in the face.

“What's the point, then?” Ana is deadly serious.

Libby tries another approach. “Ana, what do you think happens when we die?”

“Most of us, we go to hell.”

Something tears at Libby a little, from the inside.

Now the chuckle's back in Ana's voice. “Not Hurley, though.”

Libby flushes, hoping Ana won't see it in the moonlight. 

Teasing, Ana goes on. “I bet he never did a mortal sin in his life. One porn pop-up on the screen and bang, he clicks that little red X hard as he can.” She leans over, and her tone gets serious again. “Libby, you remember what we talked about. You need a friend down here, for when I'm not around.”

Panic seizes Libby. Ana's words sound final, like she's making provisions for something. “What do you mean, when you're not around?”

“We got something on that bastard in the Hatch, something big. I know he's gonna break. He just needs a little more encouragement.”

A gut-wrenching sickness joins the panic in Libby's middle. “What do you mean, 'encouragement?'” But Libby already knows.

Ana pretends she didn't hear the question. “In the meantime, I want you taken care of. People here like Hurley, and he won't, you know, bother you.”

Libby decides to ask Hurley to go running with her on the beach.

* * * * * * * *

The next day unfolds like a long, slow nightmare. Night finally falls, covering the beach camp with darkness. Libby lies curled up in her tent, a blanket over her head. She hasn't had a day like this since she checked herself into the Santa Rosa Mental Health Institute. At least the shaking's stopped.

She knows that she saved a life today, and that it was an even bigger deal than what happened at the Newport Beach pier. Then, Libby had the guy back on the sidewalk and calm by the time the rescue boats showed up. Today, if Hurley had gone through with it, actually stepped off that cliff into space, there would have been nothing left at the bottom for the gulls to nibble on.

She almost hadn't followed him into the jungle; that was the kicker. When he'd shouted at her, so loudly that she flinched, she had almost let him go back to the caves on his own.

She doesn't want to think about what would have happened if she had.

Ana was right, too. Hurley didn't even complain when she dodged that second kiss.

* * * * * * * *

For the next few days, Hurley acts like it never happened.

Rose and Libby chop fruit on a big table made out of a piece of fuselage. With a knowing expression, Rose wants to know when she and Hurley are “going on a picnic.” Her tone tells Libby that there's something more beneath the words, so Libby plays dumb.

“You know,” Rose says with that same sly suggestiveness. “A boy, a girl, alone on the beach, moonlight—”

“Well...” Libby says, stalling for time. She looks over to Sayid's shelter, where Hurley waves around the short-wave radio which Bernard took from the Arrow bunker. The flesh creeps on her arms, because she strongly suspects Sayid and Hurley are talking about her. 

No man has put it inside her since her first husband, and that wasn't very often. The resulting messy divorce led to her dropping out of medical school. By the time she met David, surgery and hormone treatments had already made sex impossible for him.

What a relief. David didn't even mind that she liked women far more than men, and she never took him up on his suggestion that she have an affair or two. They were happy together, comfortable.

Until the cancer came back. 

Libby has heard the beach women laugh quietly among themselves when people pair up and want some privacy. That's what they call it here, “going on a picnic.”

* * * * * * * *

No matter how Hurley tries, he can't keep up with Libby at running, so she slows her pace. She keeps darting glances over towards Ana's tent, though. Ana was supposed to come back from the Hatch this morning.

Suddenly, there she is, and what's that, blood on her face? 

Polite, firm, Libby excuses herself and veers off, before Hurley even has a chance to say anything.

As she and Ana talk, Ana stitches up the wound on her forehead. “It won't be long now. I'm gonna find out where Cindy and the kids are. Then we're outta here.” 

It must have just dawned on Ana what's troubling Libby. Ana looks over to the beach, where Hurley stands all at loose ends. “He'll get over you.”

Libby hopes so. But Hurley isn't the only thing troubling her. “Ana, let's just leave.”

“We can't right now. That bastard is almost gonna spill, I know it.”

“Could I at least try—”

“No. I don't want you around that animal. Look, Libby, let me do my job. Just let me do my fucking job.”

* * * * * * * *

Libby doesn't know why she's accepted Hurley's awkward, stumbling invitation to "go on a picnic." Some of it is that she really does trust him not to bother her. Some of it also involves spite towards Ana, who's so stubborn in refusing her help. 

Deep down, Libby knows that Ana's wrong. No matter what the prisoner in the Hatch has done, he's still a human being. Sure, he hit Ana, but he's the one locked up, not her. Of course he's going to try to escape, to get back to his people.

It's just ridiculous. It has to stop, before somebody gets killed. 

This all goes through her mind as she and Hurley walk in circles in the woods, looking for the path to what he promises is “this really awesome beach.”

It reminds her of something, of this stupid cartoon she used to watch at Santa Rosa when she was medded out of her skull. Round and round her thoughts go

_like wheels within wheels_

_the rec room at Santa Rosa is open to everyone, but television is a privilege_

_if you eat, Libby, you can watch television_

_she sits on one of the big TV room couches wearing a jagged Haldol smile_

_Brooks has won on meds, but he hasn't yet won on making Libby eat_

_he just thinks he has_

_her chewed-up slice of toast sits in a paper cup, slid under a rec-room table_

_so she gets to watch TV_

_it's the Flintstones, running in circles, wheels turning without any motive power_

_endless repetition_

_like a perpetual motion machine in hell_

_then he comes in with two other guys, plops down on the other couch_

_so fat_

_belly bounces when he sits down_

_wears a plaid bathrobe over mismatched plaid pajamas_

_all three guys shriek with laughter_

_his hair shorter than now, but still wildly fuzzy_

_Fred Flintstone drives around over and over_

_she remembers a line from somewhere, can't think of where_

_hell is repetition_

_hell_

_she's in hell because that's him stumbling along up ahead of her, through the jungle_

_him from the hospital_

He's lying about how he broke his hip. He's as bad as she is. At least the part about watching _The Flintstones_ is true.

Libby remembers. And wishes she hadn't.

* * * * * * * *

She can't go through with it. He's sweet, so full of boyish anticipation (has he ever been kissed before her? ever even gone on a date?) but it's not going to work.

Sooner or later he'll recollect, just as she has. Then she'll see the same horror and shame in his eyes that she feels right now. 

She smiles while he babbles. Anything to distract him, to buy some time. 

The Hatch. She'll go to the Hatch. There are back-packs at the Hatch, supplies. She and Ana can just grab what they need, and go.

If she can send Hurley off to get some wine, Rose or Bernard will probably snag him in a conversation. That'll buy her at least 20 minutes, half an hour at most, in case he decides to follow her. 

She's already thought this through. If Ana refuses to go, Libby will threaten to leave her. Sure, Ana might not back down. She could tell her to just go, then.

Ana thinks she's so smart, but Libby knows where the Line is, that invisible border set up by the other people who live on this Island. She overheard Jack talking about it with Kate, not knowing that he was being overheard. 

If Ana refuses her, Libby will go out to the Line herself and plead with the prisoner's people. At least she might be able to find Cindy. Surely they won't deny her that.

All this flies through Libby's mind in a flash. She tells Hurley that she's going to the Hatch for blankets. He's to go get a bottle of wine.

Innocently, without guile, he delivers the final blow. “Maybe if I get drunk enough, I'll remember where I know you from.”

It takes all her will to plaster a false, reassuring smile on her face. She leaves him standing at the shoreline, and when she peeks behind her, he's talking to Jin, laughing.

As soon as Libby's out of sight of the beach, she begins to sprint up the well-worn path to the Swan Hatch. 

( _continued_ )


	4. Heart

**Chapter 4: Heart**

Libby sprints along the smooth earthen path which leads to the Swan Hatch, and every beat of her heart pounds out, _Ana, Ana, Ana._

A thin noise from the forest stops her short. It's too rich and full to be a bird. More like a cat, but Libby has never seen a cat on this Island. It pierces the jungle gloom again, clearer this time. It's a cry for help. 

Panic makes her hesitate. She hasn't forgotten those seven weeks of terror in jungle, after the crash. Swallowing hard, she pushes on through the foliage. Whoever it is, they're in trouble.

The cry comes again, the voice unmistakeable. “I'm coming, Ana!” Libby shouts. “Hang on!”

Crumpled at the base of a steep cliff, Ana clutches her left ankle. Dirt and tears streak her face. “Am I ever glad to see you.”

Libby drops to Ana's side. “Let me look, okay?”

Ana lifts her jeans. Her ankle is only a little puffed up, but Libby knows that can be deceiving. “Can you stand on it?”

She hoists herself onto Libby's shoulder, gritting her teeth. “I don't think so.”

In some ways, this is more frightening than Donald's compound fracture, a lifetime ago on the day of the crash. Ana helpless is somehow not like Ana at all. Libby tries to swallow her panic. “How'd you wind up down here in the first place?”

Ana looks away, almost as if she wants to lie. Finally the answer comes out in a whisper. “I saw... someone.” She shakes her head as if to clear away an unclean vision. “Someone who couldn't be here. No way.” Drawing a deep breath, Ana pulls herself together. “Must have been a trick of the light. Before I knew it, I tripped on a rock, wound up on my ass.” She grimaces, then says what Libby's been afraid to. “Broke my fucking ankle.”

Without an x-ray it's impossible to tell. “I'll go back to the beach, get Jack.”

Fear rings Ana's eyes, even as she manages a small laugh. “Michael's in the Swan. I think he could manage to drag my ass up this hill.”

Libby wants to kiss Ana, comfort her, but Ana's already retreated deep inside herself. “Okay, sure.”

* * * * * * * *

The Hatch's back door stands open. Some instinct makes Libby pause, like an animal who senses a trap but can't quite see it.

When the first gunshot rings out, she gasps, then slaps her hand over her mouth, praying to the great nothingness that whoever fired didn't hear her. The second one echoes on the Swan Hatch's concrete walls.

Libby runs.

She doesn't stop until she reaches the bottom of the hill. The therapist, the helper, the failed doctor: all yell at her to rush to the Hatch, look for Michael, see if everyone is all right. She ignores them.

Ana has dragged herself behind some thick bushes. They crouch together in the foliage, arms around one another. 

They can't stay there forever. “I can make you a splint, help you up the hill.” Libby's not sure about the last part, though.

The jungle buzzes with heat as Ana sits, thinking. Finally she whispers, “Libby, you were right. Let's go find the Line.”

* * * * * * * *

That's easier said than done.

Even with her leg tightly wrapped and with a makeshift crutch, Ana finds it slow going. She leans on Libby, who staggers under her weight. On the second day they wander in circles, until Libby has to admit that even if she once knew where the Line was, she couldn't find it now to save either of their necks.

They have only Ana's Oceanic water bottle, and by the third day there are no streams. Ana's cheekbones stand out. Libby's mouth feels lined with sand. When Ana tries the trick of drinking water off a leaf, her lips turn beet red and swell almost shut.

They can't use the sun to navigate, because the thick trees only let in slivers of light, even at midday. The shade doesn't help, since no breezes move the thick, oppressive air.

They wander without direction. Libby wonders if they're in “the dark territory,” if the beach camp stories were true. Right after the crash, a black thing roared through the jungle like a freight train, tearing up trees. They see nothing like that; only an occasional dark smear across the tree tops.

On the morning of the fourth day, Libby can't pee. Even though Ana no longer needs her crutch, she just lies there staring at the dark green tree tops. In a hoarse whisper, Libby asks, “Ana, when you fell down the hill... Who did you see?”

Ana's skin is stretched tight across her face, showing the skull beneath. Through cracked lips she whispers, “Nathan.”

Libby pulls herself to her feet, swaying and dizzy. She knows now why in so much art, in so many stories, Death is shown as a person. Her death seems to grin at her from behind the bushes, watching. Waiting.

With her last ounce of strength, she pulls herself to her feet. In a croak that barely rises above the mocking birdsong she cries out, “Hey, Others! You wanted us before, we're here now. Come get us, you bastards.” 

She runs out of voice but with dry mouth screams it silently over and over, until she's felled by a curtain of black.

* * * * * * * *

Libby is convinced she's dead, because cold water pours over her face, her neck, into her parched mouth like a fountain. It's pure and sweet, the best water she's ever tasted.

“Easy now,” says a woman's gentle voice. “Just a few sips at a time.” She sounds young, and even though Libby has no tears, her eyes sting at the corners.

“I know them, Vanessa,” another woman says, voice older and rougher. “They're from the plane.”

Libby forces her eyes open. She sucks greedily at the canteen in front of her, but the older woman pulls it back.

“Not so fast.”

Vanessa pours water over Libby's burning head. She looks tender as an angel, her dark hair like a halo made of night. 

In panic Libby flails around. “Where's Ana? What have you done with her?”

“Nothing,” Vanessa says, pointing to where Ana lies curled on her side beneath a tree. “She's resting.”

“You remember me, don't you?” There's a laugh in the other woman's voice. She studies Libby intently, light brown eyes shining in her dark face. The breeze shakes the shell bangles which are woven into her long cornrows. 

Libby rummages through memories cluttered as an overstuffed drawer. “Nancy. You're Nancy. They took you on the first night.” She takes several more sips and says, “How did you get away?”

Nancy laughs. “Who says I did?”

“But they're... they're Others.” Never mind that Libby had cried out to be taken by them, and here they are.

“'Others?'” Vanessa says, puzzled. “Other whats?”

* * * * * * * *

Three years pass. To Libby, it feels as if she's lived in this quiet coastal fishing village all of her life.

She and Ana share a sun-bleached yurt full of tackle, hooks, and spears. Their bed is made of coarse sailcloth stuffed with dried seaweed, dented in the center from where their bodies entwine together night after night. 

Libby has never been so happy.

One day John Locke walks into their camp, carrying a dead boar. He throws it onto the sand in front of the village, as if in tribute. Ana and Libby hide in their yurt, not wanting to answer questions. Not wanting to be caught.

Half the village leaves with Locke, but not Ana and Libby. They know about Jacob, have heard tales of him for three years. Neither of them have any curiosity about him. Whoever Jacob is, whatever he is, he didn't help Ana with her leg or drag her out of that canyon. 

Three days later the villagers return, faces frozen in anger and despair. Locke isn't with them. No one speaks of him, nor Jacob either, and those who stayed behind don't ask. 

The sea bream are running thicker than they ever have, and once more the boats put out to sea.

* * * * * * * *

A month after Locke's mysterious appearance and vanishing, Libby works at the sea-side salt flats. The pink sludge in the salt-drying pond has to be raked across the shore, and it's hard work. Crystals of dried salt glitter like jewels across the surface. Tired, she puts down her wooden rake.

Across the village, Ana is helping Franz and a few other men from the plane repair a boat. No one has talked about the crash for years. It's as if they have forgotten it, except in dreams.

As Libby wipes her sweaty face, she gazes out at the horizon, expecting to find it as blue and unbroken as on every other day.

Except for this one. Out to sea, sun glimmers on white sails. As Libby stares, uncomprehending, the sails catch the wind and rush the boat to shore.

Farther down the beach, Vanessa drops her own rake and shouts, “Ship! Ship!” Libby follows close at her heels.

The warning cry relays down the beach. Heads poke from yurts as white as Libby's and Ana's. Those hanging octopus to dry let them flop onto the sand. Nancy shoulders a rifle, as does Ana, and a few men do the same.

The sailing ship stops, a little too far from shore to make out who's on board. Soon the putt-putt whirr of a motor breaks through the rhythmic slap of waves.

The raft bears two figures, and one almost makes Libby's heart stop. It's him, big as life, wild hair flapping like a curly brown flag in the wind. 

She doesn't recognize the other man, but Ana must, because she cocks her rifle squarely at him. Sun reflects off his round glasses, and he wears a patient expression, almost bored.

Waves carry the raft almost up to the strand. The small man cuts the engine and lets the surf take it the rest of the way. 

“Henry!” Ana barks out, like the cop she used to be a lifetime ago. “Stop right there, you son of a bitch!”

“Henry?” Hurley says, looking confused. 

The small man shrugs. “An old alias.” 

Hurley struggles out of the raft. “Hey, Ana Lucia, how about you chill with the gun, okay? We come in peace.” He approaches her so closely that his big stomach almost collides with the barrel of her rifle. “Hey, Libby,” he adds with a smile.

The villagers gather around them, silent and watchful. “Hello there, Ben,” Nancy says. “It's been awhile.”

“Ben?” Ana says.

“Ben Linus.” He holds his hand out to Ana, who recoils as if it was a snake.

Libby barely registers this. The sailing yacht bobbles closer to shore, as safe as it can approach without running aground. There's something familiar about it...

It hits her. It's her boat, or once was. And how did she miss the tall figure leaning on the main mast? Dexter, or was it Des— something? Desmond, that's right. The man she'd bequeathed the boat to, after David's death. Sailing around the world for love, he'd said, or some such nonsense.

Was it nonsense? She had come halfway around the world to find love, too. Libby puts her hand gently on Ana's rifle, and Ana lowers it.

Far away, on the _Elizabeth_ , more figures come up from below, three of them. 

“Ana, look,” she breathes, pulling on Ana's arm. “Look out there.”

“Oh, my God, it's Cindy. And that's...” Ana's voice trails off, choking with emotion.

“It has to be Emma and Zack,” Libby answers, versicle and response, just like in the High Church service at St. Luke's. She turns to Hurley, tears welling in her eyes. “How?”

“And how the hell did you wind up with him?” Ana says to Hurley, pointing at Ben.

“Long story, dudes,” Hurley says. “Desmond and Cindy can fill you in on your ride home. If you want, that is.”

“Home?” Ana echoes, as if the word has lost its meaning.

“You're from LA, right? Both of you?” He says it so gently that Libby's tears spill over. “Well, you're in luck, 'cause that's where ol' Desmondo is heading.”

On the deck of the _Elizabeth_ , the two kids jump up and down, waving. 

Ana lets her rifle fall to the sand. “We never thought we'd see them again.”

Libby folds Ana in her arms, pulling her head to her breast. “It's all right,” she says. “It's going to be all right.” 

Hurley doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. Again he beams a smile that can stop tears.

Ana's tears have streaked her face, and Libby brushes them away. “Come on, Ana,” she whispers. “Let's go home.”

( _the end_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **(A/N: thanks to everyone who encouraged me to write this final chapter, which diverges from canon so that Ana and Libby can get their happily-ever-after.)**


End file.
